


how could you cry for me (cause i don't feel bad about it)

by sakura_freefall



Series: 'cause the hardest part of this was leaving you [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Art Shows, Established Relationship, Ghost!taire, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, References to Depression, Survivor Guilt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, argument, enjoltaire - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28899309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakura_freefall/pseuds/sakura_freefall
Summary: Enjolras rests his head on his knees. “You never... all this... You should’ve told me.”“Well now you know,” he snaps, a little harsher than usual. “Now you know why I didn’t want you to go to this fucking art show, okay? This is why!”Enjolras blinks the tears out of his eyes, letting a low moan escape his lips. “R, I never knew, I didn’t know, I could have done so much better...”“That’s exactly it. I didn’t want you to treat me like some broken thing to put back together. I didn’t want you to pity me.”
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: 'cause the hardest part of this was leaving you [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118507
Kudos: 19





	how could you cry for me (cause i don't feel bad about it)

**Author's Note:**

> a little more angsty this time, to balance out yesterday's relative lightheartedness.
> 
> part 3 of 'cause the hardest part of this was leaving you

_Enjolras, are you sure you want to do this?_ Grantaire asks. Enjolras can make out the characters on the TV screen through him, slightly blurred and distorted.

“Yes, I’m sure. This matters to me, okay?”

Grantaire shrugs his shoulders. _I just- alright then, if you’re completely sure._

Enjolras slides on his red jacket, because even in the summer, the nights are cold. “So where is this art gallery place?” he asks, keeping his voice as light as possible.

_Three stops down the metro, then across the street._ Enjolras leaves the apartment, unsure why Grantaire seems so hesitant. He can feel Grantaire behind him like a shadow, faint but there. The sky is already beginning to glitter with stars, and the subway entrance is illuminated by bright glowing lights. Enjolras descends the stairs and swipes his card across the register.

He pushes through the turnstile, Grantaire passing right through it. _Did you know that in England one station had a rule that ghosts had to pay to ride the subway?_

“How on earth would they enforce that?” Enjolras questions rhetorically. “Like, how would you even pay?”

_Not sure. This is that late-stage capitalism you always go on about, charging money for no good reason at all._

“Lucky thing that isn’t the law here.” Enjolras again is starting to draw strange looks, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket and holds it up to his ear as if he’s taking a call. “So, R. What’s this art showing?”

_Just some old stuff,_ he says, fidgeting. _Paintings._

“Okay,” Enjolras responds, a little confused. The metro’s whooshing sound reaches his ears as he shuffles onto the train. Grantaire curls his fingers carefully around Enjolras’s hand, and he relaxes his shoulders gratefully as the noise of the train surrounds him.

The art gallery isn’t big, but isn’t small either, modern with white walls and a wood-paneled floor. Enjolras slaps down the twenty dollars for admission.

“Right this way, sir.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras approaches the first painting, which depicts a wine bottle filled with roses. He recognizes this one, Grantaire painted it right before they started dating. “Wow,” he murmurs. “I forgot how beautiful these are up close.”

Grantaire’s eyes get a little brighter, like he’s proud. _Thanks. I miss it, just feeling the paints push against the canvas._

Enjolras brushes against Grantaire’s lips. “I know.”

“Enjolras, is that you? Who are you talking to?” Combeferre’s voice comes from a corner, with an uptick of concern. Shit, he didn’t think about the possibility that Combeferre would be here, or any of their friends for that matter.

“Oh. Hi Combeferre. I was just thinking. Out loud.”

Combeferre wraps him in a tight hug. “I’m glad to see you out. It’s been hard for me and I know it’s been even worse for you. How are you holding up?”

“Okay, I guess. Thanks for the casserole.” Enjolras can’t tell him about the ghost, not yet. 

“You’re welcome, E. I know Grantaire’s watching you.” Enjolras almost does a double take before he realizes that Combeferre means it in a metaphorical sense.

“I know he is.” Combeferre walks away, perhaps able to tell that Enjolras isn’t in the mood for chatting. Enjolras glances at a few more paintings- all ones he’s seen- before entering the next room.

Immediately one catches his eye. It’s a picture of an arm- Grantaire’s arm- covered in streaks of blood. He widens his eyes, breathing heavily. He knew Grantaire struggled with depression, but he didn’t know it was ever this bad.

_Ange? Are you okay?_

“Grantaire,” Enjolras chokes out. “Please say... please say this is just a metaphor. Please tell me you made it up. Please.”

_I can’t,_ the ghost responds. Biting his lip, Enjolras moves on to the next painting. This one’s painted like a reflection in a mirror, a dark haired boy crying, holding a bloodied heart in his hands. It’s beautiful, in a dark, twisted way, rife with emotion, but it makes Enjolras want to collapse on the floor and sob.

“Grantaire, you never told me about this.”

Grantaire backs into the corner. _I didn’t think I needed to._

“Grantaire, why didn’t you let me know you?”

_I don’t know,_ Grantaire whispers to him. _I didn’t want you to think I was too broken to love. I wanted to hide it._

Enjolras rests his head on his knees. “You never... all this...” The horrible thought crosses his mind that maybe Grantaire _wanted_ to die, didn’t care if he took that bullet, but he banishes it from his head because he refuses to even consider it. “You should’ve told me.”

_Well now you know,_ he snaps, a little harsher than usual. _Now you know why I didn’t want you to go to this fucking art show, okay? This is why!_

Enjolras blinks the tears out of his eyes, letting a low moan escape his lips. “R, I never knew, I didn’t know, I could have done so much better...”

_That’s exactly it,_ R huffs. _I didn’t want you to treat me like some broken thing to put back together. I didn’t want you to pity me._

“I don’t, R. Do you think you’re the only one who feels like this? You don’t know shit about me.”

_Don’t fucking blame me!_

“I’m not! I just don’t see why you can’t see how hard this has been for me! Y- you fucking _died_ and now you c-come back a-and act like, like nothing’s wrong!” He finally loses control of himself, and now he’s sobbing on a bench in a public art gallery, what the fuck is wrong with him?

_Well how am I supposed to act?_

“I don’t know, Grantaire. I don’t know.”

A woman in a T-shirt and slacks approaches him. “Are you Enjolras?” she questions.

“Yeah,” he says through his tears, unsure of what to say.

“I’m- I’m sorry for your loss. Grantaire was your boyfriend, right?”

Grantaire is survived by his partner, Enjolras, the brochure says.

“Leave me alone,” he grunts, and maybe he’s being rude but this isn’t her business. This isn’t her life that’s been thrown upside down.

“Okay,” she says awkwardly, backing away in embarrassment.

_That was rude,_ Grantaire chides.

“I don’t care."

_You should. She was just trying to help._

“I don’t want her help,” he retorts. “I don’t want anyone’s help. You wouldn’t let us help you, so why should I let you help me?” He’s being a dick, he knows, but his emotions are running high and his words are spilling out like chips of ice.

_I don’t know,_ Enjolras, Grantaire sighs, resting his incorporeal hand against the blond boy’s hunched back. _I don’t._


End file.
